The Night of the Generals (17 page)

"In a profession such as his, it is far from uncommon to trade in human lives. The rules of demand and supply operate there as elsewhere, and Prévert would naturally have been an expert at conducting such negotiations.

"Initiates into the conspiracy were not certain which way General Kahlenberge's sympathies lay. Apparently, he never established contact with the main group of conspirators, and it seems far more likely that he acted off his own bat and formed his own little circle. He is not, therefore, a clear-cut case.

"Thus the crucial question here is not: what were General Kahlenberge and his possible backers worth?--but: what was a man like Kahlenberge worth to a man like Prévert? To Prévert, French patriots were naturally more important than a German general. Only this explains what actually happened.

"The role played at that time by Lieutenant-Colonel Grau has never been fully explained. He had the reputation of being an unusually accomplished expert on espionage and sabotage. Some classed him as one of the Canaris circle and others as a member of another opposition group, but he may have been a lone wolf. On the other hand, certain circles regarded him as a potential danger, probably because no one ever managed to sum him up."

Statement by Jacques Dumaine. Though not mentioned by name anywhere in the present book, Dumaine was the proprietor of the Mocambo Bar in Paris in1944.He is now (1961) the proprietor of a restaurant (credited with one star by Michelin) at Les Sables, north of La Rochelle. The notes reproduced here cover only a few sentences taken from a three-hour interview: "The Mocambo Bar was always jammed full--mostly with young people. All they wanted to do was live it up--forget, get drunk, make love. It didn't matter what language they spoke or whether they wore uniform or not.

"... I remember Hartmann well. He always looked as if he was hungry but didn't quite know what for. He spoke appalling French. It still makes my ears hurt to think of it. But what spirit!

"Perhaps my weakness for the lad had something to do with Raymonde. I wonder if he ever realized how lucky he was to have her... "... Yes, he gave a speech at my place. I could have hugged him, but I never got the chance. I was busy serving customers, and a little while later the Boches came tramping in looking like a lot of tortoises in those helmets of theirs... "The next day Hartmann was back again. He was like one of those toys--you know, you stand them on their heads or give them a shove and they bob up smiling.

"What ever became of him?"

Further comments on Lieutenant-Colonel Grau by ex-Sergeant Engel: "I spent a lot of time with him, in private as well as on duty. He talked to me a great deal, but I never made out what his real ideas were. Sometimes, when he made a risky remark I didn't know whether he meant it or whether it was just a sort of joke.

"There were times when he had to keep five balls in the air at once. It was part of the job. People were always sticking their oar in--the S. D. and the Gestapo, for instance. Grau had his hands full, shaking those lads off, and every so often there was a rumpus. For example, the S. D. swore that Grau had knocked two of their men off.

"But a lot of the army boys in the Paris area also got hot under the collar when Grau appeared on the scene. He enjoyed hauling senior officers out of their beds late at night and arresting them--in the politest possible way, of course."

4

It was the morning of July 18th 1944, and Paris lay there radiant in the splendour of high summer like an attractively dishabille woman of mature years and warm-blooded beauty who was preparing to rise and begin another in a long succession of pleasurable days.

Or so, at least, Rainer Hartmann felt, though others might have described the morning in more prosaic terms, e. g.: sky cloudless, temperature average for the time of year and traffic normal, or rather, normal for war-time conditions. Anyway, it was Paris as it had always been and would always be--endless façades of petrified grandeur in every conceivable shade of grey, grey-black and black, sweltering in brilliant sunlight.

It was precisely eight o'clock, and Hartmann was standing beside the Bentley in front of the main entrance of the Hotel Excelsior. His forebodings of the previous night had vanished, leaving him pleasantly excited at the prospect of what he was sure would be an unusual experience. The thought of General Tanz's rugged, adamantine inaccessibility did not perturb him unduly. Even Tanz, he told himself optimistically, would succumb to the unique enchantment of the city sooner or later.

A sergeant emerged from the hotel and hurried up to him. He looked pale as death and was carrying a briefcase--though "transporting" might have been a better description. He handled it as gingerly as if it contained a live bomb which might explode at the slightest jolt.

"Are you Hartmann?" the sergeant inquired. "My name's Kopatzki, but you're welcome to call me Paul. I'm General Tanz's No .1 orderly--for the time being, that is. I may have lost the job already. I forgot to take his laces out before cleaning his shoes this morning. If he notices it I'm done for."

"I'm sorry," said Hartmann.

"You needn't be." Sergeant Kopatzki showed the whites of his eyes like a cowed but cunning mongrel. "I ought to have done it ages ago. Hell throw me out on my neck and get me fourteen days' spud-bashing, but it'll be a rest-cure after all I've been through."

Hartmann was at a loss for an answer, but one thing seemed certain: Kopatzki, Paul, was hardly a bundle of joy. "Is the briefcase for me?"

"You bet your sweet life it's not! This briefcase belongs to the General. It's got his holiday rations inside, if you like to call them that."

Kopatzki held out the briefcase to Hartmann. Its dark pig-skin surface gleamed like a mirror.

"Hand-polished!" Kopatzki said bitterly. "It only takes a quarter of an hour a day to bring the shine up, but the General's got three of the sods."

Hartmann made to take the briefcase, but Kopatzki stepped back hastily, his face betraying alarm. "Don't put your sweaty paws all over it! Haven't you got any gloves?"

"What do you mean, gloves? I'm not a flunkey."

Paul Kopatzki laughed hoarsely but without malice. "Please yourself, it's all the same to me. You can dig your own grave as soon as you like, but you're not going to do it at my expense. I'm responsible for this briefcase until you and the General drive off."

So saying, Kopatzki stowed the case away with his own gloved hands. He put it in the back of the Bentley, first satisfying himself that the floor was spotlessly clean. "I never mind helping a pal," he said. "Sometimes there's no choice."

Hartmann was informed that the briefcase contained "refreshments," to whit: a bottle of cognac, a bottle of gin and a Thermos flask of strong black coffee, seventy beans per cup, temperature forty degrees centigrade. "One degree over or under and the General will throw it at your head or the nearest wall."

"Does the General drink?"

Hartmann's face clearly showed that he entertained the strongest doubts about the sergeant's statement. Kopatzki seemed to deplore this.

"Drink? He soaks it up--not that you'd notice. He can put away buckets of the stuff without tripping over his words. Holds himself like a ramrod, too. I reckon he swallows a couple of iron bars every morning before breakfast. He smokes like a chimney as well--when no one's looking."

"So he suffers from nerves too," Hartmann mused, searching for an explanation. "You've got to remember he's been through a lot."

"So have we, but no one spares a thought for the likes of us."

"I'm sure his bark's worse than his bite."

Kopatzki snorted contemptuously at Hartmann's comfortable generalization. "I guarantee you'll change your tune before you've been with him two minutes," he prophesied. "Here's one piece of advice, anyway: polish everything polish-able or he'll have your guts for garters."

Remembering Lieutenant-Colonel Sandauer's orders, Kopatzki proceeded to enlarge on this theme. There were a number of commandments, among them: Don't speak unless requested to do so. Carry out all orders without a word, even when they seem pointless or asinine.

Take advantage of every halt--whether the General is inspecting something, eating or relieving himself--to clear up any mess that has accumulated in the interval.

Always deal with the ash-trays first, then the floor and finally the seats.

If without gloves, always use a duster when touching polished surfaces and objects. Paper will do in an emergency.

Answer the General's questions loud and clear, even if he puts them quietly, as he normally does. He never asks twice.

Watch the colour of his notebooks.

"For heaven's sake!" exclaimed Hartmann, dumbfounded. "You must be joking. What do you mean--watch the colour of his notebooks?"

"He's got two," Kopatzki informed him patiently. "You needn't worry about the black one. He just jots down his ideas in it. But watch out for the red one! He uses it for recording all the omissions, mistakes, oversights, slips and misdemeanours of his personal staff. One entry means fatigues, two entries mean jankers, and so on down to special duties and transfer for disciplinary reasons--and that's as good as an indirect death sentence."

"You're pulling my leg."

"You'll find out soon enough."

"But this is ridiculous." Hartmann's voice rang with a self-confidence he didn't entirely feel. "You can't scare me. I spent a week with General Schörner in Russia. That was something, I can tell you. He's the biggest fire-eater I'm ever likely to come across."

"Schörner a fire-eater?" scoffed Sergeant Kopatzki. "He's a dear old lady compared with Tanz."

"But Tanz is only human. The fact that we're standing around gabbing proves it. I was ordered to be here at eight o'clock on the dot and it's gone half past already. It's a human failing, being late like this."

Kopatzki sadly shook his jowly, doggy head. "You poor fool! Sandauer ordered you to be here by eight, but only to give us a chance to put you straight on a couple of things. The General won't be here till nine--and he'll be here on the dot, you take it from me. He's having breakfast now."

Hartmann took a step back as though in self-defence. As he did so his sweaty palm touched one of the wings, leaving a damp mark. Almost automatically he pulled out his handkerchief and started to polish the paintwork. Kopatzki grinned sympathetically.

At that moment Lieutenant-Colonel Sandauer appeared. Like Kopatzki he was grey with fatigue, but his eyes looked alert and observant behind their thick lenses.

"Haven't you got any gloves?" he asked.

"No, sir, I didn't realize that..."

"Kopatzki, dig up some gloves. Better try the hall porter. He'll help you out."

While Kopatzki trotted off into the foyer, Sandauer began to circle Hartmann and the Bentley on a tour of inspection. Minutes passed. The already hat sun shone brightly down on this unusual military spectacle in the heart of Paris, but the few passers-by seemed to avert their gaze. What was happening belonged to a world which had nothing to do with them.

"Not bad, Hartmann," Sandauer said finally. "You seem to be the adaptable sort. Have you got everything buttoned up? The General will expect you to submit some concrete suggestions. He'll only visit the most important places, but he'll insist on doing them thoroughly."

"Yes, sir."

"And as I said--no tombs or similar items of interest. We see enough graves as it is. That rules out the Invalides and the Arc de Triomphe and the Panthéon. Grandeur and beauty are what the General needs for relaxation, understand?"

Hartmann absorbed sundry further instructions from Sandauer and then donned the pair of gloves which Kopatzki had managed to extract from the hotel porter. Shortly afterwards a clock began to chime the hour.

"Nine o'clock," said Sandauer. "Here's the General."

As he spoke the General appeared, clad in a pale grey suit which he wore as though it, too, was a uniform. He glanced briefly up at the sun, then down at Hartmann, his eyes focusing on him with a fighter pilot's knack of instant orientation. Finally, he advanced on the Bentley with measured tread.

Hartmann opened the rear door. The General paused for some seconds, scrutinizing the cleanliness of the car's interior. His three satellites--Sandauer, Kopatzki and Hartmann--watched him with bated breath.

All was well. General Tanz climbed in without a word and settled himself in his seat, though his ramrod back scarcely seemed to touch the cushions. He gazed straight ahead through the windscreen at the massive triumphal column in the Place Vendôme. Perhaps its dark metallic sheen appealed to him.

"First a tour of the city," said the General in a quiet, not dissatisfied voice.

However, before Hartmann had even started the engine he spoke again, this time to Sandauer but without turning his head. "Sergeant Kopatzki is relieved of his duties. He has smeared shoe-cream all over my laces. Fourteen days' cookhouse fatigues."

"Yes, sir," said Lieutenant-Colonel Sandauer with palpable indifference.

"Drive on," said the General.

General Kahlenberge was prepared to make any sacrifice provided it gave him a chance to work on his commanding officer systematically. He even accepted an invitation to lunch from Frau Wilhelmine. His overriding aim at the present time was to strengthen the conspiratorial network and ultimately to make contact with one of the main groups.

Although the crucial moment seemed to be approaching with lightning speed, von Seydlitz-Gabler had still not shown his colours. Not that von Seydlitz-Gabler was particularly important in himself. His name coupled with his rank and position were useful assets, but everything else would be handled--as usual--by able and efficient members of the General Staff. However, the G.O.C. was as slippery as an eel.

"There have been a series of discussions," Kahlenberge reported. "Various plans have been worked out in the fullest detail."

"Excellent. Just what one would expect from staff officers." General von Seydlitz-Gabler tacked elegantly like a yacht beating into the wind. He did not question the nature of the discussions nor express any wish to be acquainted with the plans. He seemed to tolerate the situation, if not actively approve of it, but he avoided committing himself.